Skin (Chapter Three)

[thehonorablebat]

 

2018

Weir threw up a telekinetic shield. The bomb’s explosion smashed against it hard, but it held. He thanked Angelis under his breath. Her tutelage over the last few years made his psionics faster and stronger.

The shield withstood the incoming gunfire. When the smoke cleared, he dropped it and teleported up to the second floor balcony. Down belong him, the troopers he protected went to work retaliating against the rebels.

In an ideal world, he could leave the troopers to deal with the mess, but he still had a job to do. A few explosions weren’t enough to stop him. The Elders made it clear they trusted only one other to do this task, and the Speaker didn’t have his defensive skills. Not that anyone expected the dwindling resistance to attack in the middle of an occupied city center.

The attacks and protests over the last year trickled down into only two in six months. Looked like the resistance just needed time to reload. The Administration’s hope of peace at last went up with that bomb down on the clinic’s first floor.

Weir could only teleport to places he knew or could see. He’d yet to get the hang of blind jumping. Otherwise he’d teleport into the right room and make off with the objective before the resistance knew what happened. As it stood, he needed to do it the hard way.

Everything the troopers saw, he saw. Weir used it to build a map. Complete with the locations of everyone in the building.

Or most everyone.

He turned a corner and got whacked in the face with the butt of a rifle. Weir fell against the wall, blood gushing from his nose.

“Surprise,” Bradford said.

Weir tossed him back down the hall. One more quick psionic burst healed his nose.

“Evening!” Weir called after him. He tossed up another shield in time to reflect a hail of bullets. “You can surrender, you know. No harm will come to you if you just cooperate.”

Bradford tried shooting him again.

Weir sent a mindspin at him, but he might as well have not bothered. Bradford’s mind felt like steel.

Downstairs his troopers took the advantage and pressed it. With reinforcements on the way, the resistance’s chances sunk.

Weir slammed Bradford against the wall hard enough to make him drop his rifle. He held him still, trying and failing to force him unconscious.

“Why did you do it?” Bradford asked. He twisted against the psionic hold. “What did they say to you?”

Weir wavered.

Bradford reached a grenade.

–

2035

“I think a cage is counter productive to physical therapy,” Weir said.

“Command doesn’t want you running marathons. They want you juuuuuust healthy enough a bit rough housing won’t make you keel over,” Montoya said.

Weir wanted to tell him his knowledge of ADVENT’s inner workings didn’t amount to much. What he did know could change at the flip of a switch in situations like this one. The Elders didn’t like any one person holding too much power with no recourse. Even their general needed a rug under them they could yank out at a moment’s notice.

Not that he suspected XCOM cared. Revenge motivated them more than anything else.

Montoya grinned down at him.

Weir had never met the man before now, but he knew where he came from. Montoya may have traded the striped bandanna for an XCOM one, but the sunglasses concealing MELDed eyes told Weir all he needed to know.

EXALT’s experience with torture tended towards the cult brainwashing kind. Those who joined never left. Including ADVENT’s spies. Unlike XCOM, EXALT inspired wariness in the Administration’s top ranks.

He’d give XCOM points, though. Creativity sat among their strong suits. Assigning Montoya as his doctor made him a little nervous.

The man’s damn cheery disposition didn’t help.

“How’s the jumpsuit fit?” Montoya asked. He pulled Weir back to his feet. The movement made the room spin.

“Fine,” Weir said, fighting down nausea.

“You’re all skin, bone, and muscle. Those ADVENT burgers aren’t high in fat, huh?”

“They’re nutritious if that’s what you mean,” Weir said. Not that he ate them much. Too busy to remember to eat at all half the time. Even now he could hear Angelis’ voice in his head chiding him. Psionics did strange things to the body. He needed to keep his strength up or risk bad side affects.   

Though that wasn’t a problem anymore, was it?

Montoya placed a hand on his back to steady him. Together they walked the short distance to the chair on the cell’s opposite end. The journey winded Weir.

Too much, too fast. A sane doctor wouldn’t have him walking around yet.

“We’ve taken you off the feeding tube for now. We’re going to start you on some soup tonight. Let me know if you have issues swallowing.” Montoya grabbed his tablet to review Weir’s chart. “The good news is your eyes are tracking fine and your eyesight is….20/18. Gene clinics are a hell of a thing.”

Weir frowned. Too busy trying to catch his breath to say anything.

“Alright,” Montoya said, “back to bed. I’ll be back in an hour with your drugs.”

Didn’t that sound ominous? Weir thought that sounded ominous. He could handle receiving meds from Tygan, but getting them from a cultist sent off alarm bells in his head.

They made it half way back to his cot when the storage room door opened. Bradford stalked in breathing fire.

“You.” He pointed at Montoya without looking at him. Furious eyes focused on Weir. “Out.”

“If you punch him, I can’t guarantee he’ll get up again,” Montoya said.

Weir managed to make it back to his cot on his own. He dropped down onto it unable to remain standing.

“He’ll be fine. Out, squaddie.”

Montoya saluted and opened the cage. His GREMLIN floating close enough to Weir it could zap him if he tried anything. Montoya gave them one last look before leaving.

Both Weir and Bradford breathed hard enough you’d think they finished a marathon.

“Do you have any idea what ADVENT just did?”

“A few ideas, yes.” Weir wanted to get a drink of water from the sink, but didn’t want to take his eyes off the other. “You weren’t really naive enough to think they wouldn’t do anything, were you?”

Bradford took one step forward, fists clenched.

“No, and I’m not dumb enough anymore to think you’d care about the innocent people they murdered in your name. I just wanted to make sure you knew that we are being extremely merciful in keeping you alive. If Shen and I had our way, we’d have already executed you and made sure ADVENT saw it.”

Funny. The Thin Men said much the same thing not long after they captured him twenty years ago.

The words bounced around in his head.